Remedial Geometry
by TheImmortalJimmyMance
Summary: Suddenly it's becoming clear to you that you have always been the third side of a triangle you didn't even know existed. Jimmy POV in Ep. 11


Remedial Geometry

Summary: Suddenly it's becoming clear to you that you have always been the third side of a triangle you didn't even know existed. (Jimmy POV in Ep. 11)

Pairing: Jimmy/Abby, some Henry/Abby (pre-series) mentions

Spoilers: To be safe, through Ep. 13.

Disclaimer: Not mine, they belong to Turteltaub and CBS. I'm just playing with them.

You shouldn't even be thinking it, but your world has quickly turned upside down and blood colored. The sight of your best friend's body strung up in The Cannery has shaken something loose inside you and taken the blinders from your eyes. You search the island for help, groggily knocking on doors and cursing as you find your home deserted and desolate. It terrifies you, not knowing where Abby is, or what has happened since the explosion. It also gives you time to think. As you hear the church bells and decide to head toward them, you look back over the past, searching for clues, some hint as to what is happening and why. As it all starts to add up to the unthinkable, you shake your head in disbelief and reject the idea immediately. It's not possible, and yet...

Henry and Abby were always a package deal, right from the start.

...

You sat next to each other in Kindergarten, Mance then Mills, the blessings of alphabetical order. It took you three hours to work up the courage to speak to the pretty little girl in the green-checked dress on your right. Finally opportunity knocked when the teacher instructed the class to color a picture of their favorite person. She got this big frown and started fretting about breaking the points on her brand new crayons. Unable to bear her sad face, you let her share yours instead. And when she drew a picture of her best friend, a boy with brown hair like yours, you couldn't help but smile a little, until she told you his name was Henry.

...

The entire island talked about nothing but Henry's prize-winning fish. Sparky Mackle took his picture for the Harper's Globe, surrounded by his family, all beaming at him proudly. You watched the golden boy accept the accolades like they were his due, even gave him your own begrudging "nice fish, Henry" as you looked at your own, terribly small by comparison. Little Trish Wellington in her spotless dress and new white sandals gave him a smile and a shy wave from the deck of her parents' yacht, but he returned it distractedly, clearly searching the crowd. When Abby leaped into Henry's arms, almost knocking him over with the ferocity of her hug, a look of peace came over him, as he closed his eyes and held her against him just a second too long. The next instant, he grabbed her hand and they ran down the dock to gaze at his prize catch. Standing there alone, with your non-prize winning fish and no Abby to share it with, was the first time you admitted to yourself that you might just be jealous of Henry Dunn.

...

After a while, you didn't look forward to the summer. For most of the local kids, summer was magic and talk of summer sustained them through the harsh cold and boredom of winter until the summer kids arrived, bringing excitement and life back to the island. But you didn't like summers at all. It didn't take long for you to realize that 9 months of the year, you had Abby mostly to yourself, her smile, her laughs. You saw each other every day, shared jokes and adventures and clearly the start of something you couldn't define, but knew you really really wanted. And when that ferry arrived, it would be over. You'd be an outsider again in the private world of Abby and Henry. Abby would be nice, she'd invite you over to hang out with them, just like she always invited Trish, but it would be painfully obvious when they shared a memory or inside joke that you didn't understand, that they were a party of two with no room left at the table.

You kept up the bad mood, the doom and gloom thinking until the ferry arrived. When Abby sweetly slipped her hand into yours and laughingly half-dragged you to the gangplank with her, you ignored the impending dread, and allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, the warmth of her hand in yours, and the way your fingers locked together in a perfect fit. As he spied your clasped hands, Henry's eyes had darkened for just a second, a faint hint of disapproval on his face. You answered with a defiant grin. This summer wasn't going to be like the others and somehow Henry sensed the change. He pasted on his toothy All American smile and told you it was good to see you, and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. It wasn't that you wouldn't fight for Abby, it was just that it was so much better for everyone that you didn't have to. When Trish Wellington showed up a few days later, all grown up in a white bikini, everything was fine. The party of two had finally expanded to a foursome.

...

This was not a good idea at all, you reminded yourself as you threaded through the pulsing throngs of teenagers, in search of your missing girlfriend. At first when Henry suggested a party on the Wellingtons' yacht to get his mind off Trish in Palm Beach, you were all for it. But after several beers, Abby's introduction to something called a jello shot, and a pounding headache, all you wanted was to find Abby and get her home before the sheriff flipped about her missing curfew again. You spied Nikki in an intense liplock with a tattooed guy several years her senior, but no Abby in sight and started to panic. Growing more and more alarmed, you raced down the hall, opening stateroom doors, until you finally found your sleeping beauty, passed out on Trish's pink bedspread. A sober Henry sat in the chair next to her, unaware of your presence until he heard your sigh of relief from the doorway. When Abby gave a soft sigh and turned in her sleep, both of you stared at the bed watching her in silence.

"You need to take better care of her," Henry ordered you harshly, his eyes never straying from Abby's oblivious form before abruptly rising and exiting the room.

As you sat on the bed next to Abby and stroked her hair, trying to gently coax her awake, you promised yourself and Henry, that you would.

A short time later, when you were loaded into Sheriff Mills' SUV with a lecture and handcuffs, while Henry got a handshake and Charlie Mills' gratitude for seeing a still wobbly Abby home safely, you could almost swear you saw him smirking, but chalked it up to near alcohol-poisoning.

...

The dark skies and pouring rain seemed particularly appropriate to you as you donned the nicest shirt and pants you owned and headed to the First Church of Harper's Island to bury Sarah Mills. You stood in the graveyard, watching nearly everyone you knew still in shock from the unthinkable events that happened barely a week ago. You'd already been to funerals for the parents of two other classmates, but this one was the hardest. You knew Sarah Mills. She had baked you chocolate chip cookies and teased you about Abby until you blushed bright red. And you needed both hands to count all the times she stuck up for you with Abby's father. She certainly took more interest in you than either of your own parents ever did. But that day wasn't about you. That day, that horrible, dreary, dark day, was about getting Abby through it in one piece, because her father couldn't help her, too busy drowning himself in guilt and bourbon.

For the first time in a long time, you were actually grateful for Henry's presence, the way he took charge in that quiet way of his. It was like you were almost real friends, or at least you were both playing for the same team, as you coaxed Abby to eat a few bites of the casseroles sent by well-meaning neighbors, and tried to hold off the endless phone calls from reporters. The first few nights, you'd just sat there and held her as she soaked your shirt, whispering promises that you'd never leave her (and for the record – you never did). And then it was like she was empty, hollow. She just sat there, ramrod straight, staring into space, like she was watching a terrible movie on loop. You could feel her slipping further and further away from you and it terrified you like nothing ever had before. You might have saved her body from Wakefield, but he had already taken her soul.

When she walked into the cemetery, supported by Henry's arm, a dead-eyed skeleton, all in black, you knew what it was like to truly hate someone, and you'd hoped that John Wakefield was burning in hell. When Charlie Mills showed up a few minutes later, glassy-eyed drunk and holding a silver flask with engraving you didn't have the courage to read, while his daughter barely registered his presence, you realized Wakefield had company there.

Abby sleepwalked through the whole thing, offering emotionless words of thanks to those who offered their sincere condolences, before heading into the church basement for the lunch that had been prepared by Maggie and the staff at the Candlewick. Kindly old Julia offered her some encouraging words, a sad smile, and squeezed her shoulder, telling her her mother would be missed, but you doubted Abby heard a word of it even though you thanked her. Finally there was just you and Henry on each side of Abby, Charlie about three feet away. When they started to finally lower Sarah Mills into the ground, Charlie threw his flask and walked away and Abby collapsed into Henry's arms. You both managed to get her into the car, and you snapped her into a seatbelt and kissed her forehead, before climbing into the backseat. When you got her home Henry helped her up to her bed and when he came back down, you could already sense the change. You weren't on the team anymore. You never really were . You were just a pinch-hitter and you had been traded.

...

It had been several years since you talked to Henry Dunn. He'd come back to the island a few times since that terrible day, and he'd shared stories with Nikki and others about Abby, how she would visit him at school, he'd go see her in California, how they spent the holidays together, and she was doing so well working her way up at the paper. As hungry as you were for news of her, because she was still the center of your world whether you hated her and were planning your revenge or were missing the hell out of her and hoping she'd come back (most days a 50/50 split), you couldn't bring yourself to face Henry, to see the pity in his eyes.

But one night, he came into The Cannery and he spied you sitting there without your usual shadow Shane, and he bought you a drink - the $14 dollar a shot Scotch you could only afford on special occasions. You shared polite small talk, and congratulated him on his engagement to Trish, and then he dropped the news that made you choke – he was getting married on the island, and you had to hold back the urge to knock his perfect teeth in, as he took one last thing from you. This island was supposed to be your home, yours and Abby's. You'd get married in the church where her parents had married, get a house near them so they could watch the grandkids, have date night at The Cannery and a family table at Pepper's. That had been the plan, until Wakefield had screwed it all up. As you tried to cover your reaction to the bomb that had just been dropped, Henry had dropped a twenty on the bar and stood up to go. As he paused at the door, he uttered the final blow, "I bet she'll come back for it." The message: I bet she'll come back for me, was understood loud and clear. And that was the first time you admitted to yourself, that you could really hate Henry Dunn.

...

You'd already seen Abby, flirted with her, shared banter and pool, a beer and a barfight, so it didn't surprise you in the slightest to see Henry standing on your dock, all preppy perfect, with a transparent invitation to a beach party that had disaster written all over it. A few years of Charlie's guidance, and a few nights in his jail however had finally taught you better. You politely declined Henry's offer, even when he dropped the obvious bait that Abby would be there. You couldn't erase the past, but you definitely wouldn't be manipulated any more by Henry Dunn. Abby came to you on her own the next day anyway. And the next night, when she was obviously frightened by something, it was your door she'd knocked on, not Henry's even though he was in the same hotel. The two of you had shared breakfast at Pepper's with Charlie and it was starting to look like the dream might still be alive, as you both teased her easily and shared memories. Until the bodies started showing up, one by one.

And now as you walk into the First Church of Harper's Island, fresh from an explosion and the horrific discovery of the bodies of two good friends, you have to start considering the unthinkable. Abby rushes to your side and pulls you tightly into an embrace, as you glance over her shoulder at Henry's face. Little things are nagging at you louder and louder. Like who would have had access to Abby's cell phone and hotel room to terrorize her with those calls and that article. And the look on Henry's face when he beat the holy crap out of your best friend ( a sentiment you actually echoed at the time) and nearly choked him to death for talking about Abby that way. Like Henry covered in blood, standing over his brother. Like the just a minute too long Henry allowed himself to lean into Abby's comforting arms when they were standing over JD and the way he still looks at her even when she's not looking at him, and always has to be the center of her attention. Trish has almost become an afterthought in the last day, as Henry runs around making sure to stay with Abby (a fact that Trish, even sweet Trish) has clearly noticed. And the one that really bothers and perplexes you, why did the apparently still-alive John Wakefield spare you, twice?

Henry's voice interrupts your thoughts, as he issues orders to trap Wakefield and find Chloe, sending you with Trish to guard the grate while he and Abby take off into the tunnels. You don't like the plan, but you don't have a better one. As injured as you are, you'd be a liability in a more active role. He and Abby, shotguns in hand, make for the tunnels, and you see a look flash across Henry's face you have seen before. Suddenly it's becoming clear to you that you have always been the third side of a triangle you didn't even know existed, but you've still got more questions than answers. But right now the focus has to be on catching and killing Wakefield, the immediate threat. And for all his flaws, the one thing you know in your blood is that Abby is safe with Henry. When this is all over, however, you can sense a storm brewing. Because this time you won't just stand on the sidelines passively watching her slip away from you. You will fight for her, with everything you have.

As you sit in the car, watching Trish doze, trying to keep your mind off worrying about Abby, you wonder if Trish has any idea how quickly her world is about to implode. You try to take the gun, without disturbing her rest, but she wakes up startled.

"You shouldn't sleep with a loaded gun," you advise her. You doubt she understands your meaning, as she drifts right back to sleep.

You look around nervously, watching for Wakefield, watching for any sign, terrified to shut your eyes, only for death to catch you sleeping. Charlie wanted Abby off this island. He was adamant about it in Harkin's cabin. The car is blocking the grate, and you need a new plan. Your mind made up, you pick up the gun and get out of the car. It's a new game, and you've decided you're not playing by Henry's rules any more.


End file.
